


Surviving

by fadedink



Series: Lazy Hazy Summer Daze [10]
Category: King Arthur
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedink/pseuds/fadedink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surviving is enough</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surviving

**Author's Note:**

> [Lazy Hazy Summer Daze](http://idiosyncratic.livejournal.com/701573.html) #10 for [](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/)**azewewish** because she gave me the chance to go back to this fandom. :)

The Battle of Badon is behind, and they have won. Or so she tells herself as she stands there, looking over the graves of the fallen.

Grass is slowly returning, creeping in to cover the mounds of scarred earth that hide the bodies below. All too soon, the only reminders will be the swell of the ground, the crosses that adorn them. But everywhere she looks -- in the keep and out -- she sees them.

She knows she's not the only one.

Sun glints off tangles of dark blond hair as he steps up beside her, respecting her need for silence. They stand there as the breeze tugs at hair and clothes, and then she turns to him.

"Why?"

A half-smile quirks his mouth. His gaze remains on the distant horizon as he shifts with a creak of leather. "If I knew that, my lady --"

"We survived."

"We did," he agrees, finally looking at her. His eyes are older than his face by centuries, and she can see the lines of grief still bracketing his mouth. It's yet another reminder that he's lost brothers. They don't speak of what Arthur has lost. "That's enough."

"It's not," she says, but she wants to scream the words, to rail at the spirits, demanding answers she knows will never come. "It's _not_."

"Sometimes, my lady Guinevere," he says, his voice soft as the breeze, his eyes gentle and sad, "sometimes it is."

As he walks away, she watches him, wondering how he can believe that surviving is enough. How he can be so calm, so accepting. How he can move through life not wanting the Saxons alive so they can be killed once more.

Her gaze is drawn back to the graves, and Guinevere wraps her arms around her body. "It's not," she whispers, and she knows it will _never_ be enough.

  


  



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